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The intruder is there for no more than a minute before you take notice of him – the feeling of his toes displacing the water almost immediately presses against you like fingers at the back of your neck. You locate him just on the bank of the pool, and peer at him through the waterfall that feeds into it. Covered in dirt and sweat, dark hair sticking to his forehead, he wipes his brow and scoops a small handful of water from the pool. It is then you make yourself known, beckoning your material form in the center of the pond.
“Excuse me.”
He freezes, water still cupped in his hand – but to your surprise, he stumbles backwards, bending a little at the waist and withdrawing his feet from the pool. “Forgive me,” he says, ducking his head down, “I didn’t know this water was yours.” He peers up at you again – just briefly – before heading to his trousers and boots away from the bank.
You don’t typically tolerate intruders. The pristine quality of your water is crucial to your health, and more often than not, humans do not respect it. But this gentleman…you are not human by any means, but this one’s heart sings so timidly sweet, like a little songbird. And while you do not usually entertain the company of humans…
“It is no trouble,” you find yourself saying. “If you need to bathe and drink, I will allow it.”
He halts and turns around a little, his brow knitting for a moment. “Are you certain? I have no qualms finding another suitable place. This is your pool first and foremost.”
His consideration is perhaps more meaningful than he realizes. “I am certain,” you answer.
Tentatively – either because he still doesn’t quite believe you, or because he understands the immense privilege it is to be invited into a nymph’s pool – he returns to the bank, giving you careful glances every now and then, but just in your general direction – never directly at you. He dips his feet in, just to cool down at first. You study him from the safety of the waterfall: how he carefully begins to wash his feet, his ankles, his sturdy calves, soft with downy hair, how he cups the water in his smooth hands and gingerly pours it over his skin.
You close your eyes, focusing on a spot along the bank not too far away from him, and visualize yourself there – and a column of air rushes into you as you reappear in the physical nearby.
“You know,” you tell him (as you try not to laugh at him nearly jumping), “when I said you can drink and bathe, that meant going into the water as well. A bath by the handful will take a year.”
“I…yes.” His cheeks darken, and he looks away. “Thank you.” He’s looking anywhere but at you, and his eyes settle on the surface of the water. “I was hesitant only because I felt it might be…invasive of me to do so.”
What’s that word the humans refer to gentlemen as? Sit…sip…sire…sir. Sir. “My dear sir, if I am inviting you, it is not invasive.”
He nods, but otherwise says nothing, and continues to pay a fair amount of attention to his legs as he washes them, sliding only a little more into the water.
“Tell me, why don’t you look at me? I thought humans did that when conversing.”
His blush deepens, and he hazards quick glances at your face as he talks. “Well, I suppose it is typical for nymphs and dryads to not be clothed. But you still take a form similar to an unclothed human, and…” he gestures, trying to pick his words from the air. “…an unclothed body is very intimate in human culture. So it is instinctive for me to…”
“To look away.”
He nods, but he’s quiet. After a few moments, he adds, “You are also especially beautiful – well,” he nods at the pool and waterfall, “this part of you is, as well as your physical form. While I have been allowed to bathe and drink, I feel I have not been allowed to look, so I am trying to be mindful of each part of you. At– at least, in the way– in the way I know how.”
“That is—” incredibly thoughtful “—very kind. Thank you.” You slip into the water. The edges of the bank are steep, but the water comes up to the middle of your torso. Effortlessly, you glide so that you are in front of him, and as expected, he turns his head a bit to the side, his sheepishness creeping up his neck like ivy. You can’t help but laugh a little to yourself – though you might not understand why it makes him so embarrassed, you find it endearing. “Come on,” you say, and reach to tap at his ankle in the water as an invitation. “I don’t mind.”
He dares to look at you again – slowly – and when his eyes fall on you, a swath of emotions tumble out of him: shyness, awe, nervousness, appreciation, all tangled up in each other as he flickers between them. You turn away from him with a little smile and begin to swim to the center of the pool. “The edges may be steep, but it’s quite shallow, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” you tell him over your shoulder.
He doesn’t reply, but after the rustling of clothes, you hear a gentle splash and know that he’s not far behind. The water around you gives as you propel yourself to the opposite side of the pool, and it tosses you up on a rock to sit and watch. He sees you, but even though you’ve told him you don’t mind him looking, you catch his cheeks still bright red when he goes under to wet his hair. When he emerges, he combs his fingers through, then begins to bathe.
You swing your feet in the water. “Why are you still red? You’re not sunburnt.” A possibility comes to mind. “You’re not clothed.”
He smiles sheepishly and pours some water over his shoulder. “I don’t mind.”
“Then what is it?”
“You’re very beautiful,” he says, as though that is a clear answer.
“And?” You lean back and prop yourself on your arms. “That makes you embarrassed?”
“Yes.” He looks at you again, his eyes flickering across you briefly before they land on your face again. “In a way.”
“Why?”
He’s the one to laugh this time. “I’ve never had to explain it.” He thinks for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the crook of his neck. “Your beauty and kindness…both are…” he pushes out the following word carefully, as though he is afraid it might hurt you, “…attractive, but I am shy. Especially given you’re – you’re unclothed. Some humans may see you and have a naturally confident response. But not all of us are like that. At least I’m not. I don’t – I don’t want to be.” He peers up at you, looking suddenly very fragile. “Does that make sense?”
You nod. He looks relieved that you aren’t upset, and something twinges in you seeing this. “I don’t think you should be, though.”
“Embarrassed?”
“Mhm. We nymphs are very straightforward.”
He takes a breath. “I suppose I am worried that being straightforward will make someone uncomfortable.”
“My dear sir, I don’t think you could manage that even if you tried.”
A blush creeps back along his cheeks. “Thank you. That means quite a bit.” He pauses. “I think I just need to become more comfortable with that idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I’m…” he bends his knees and lets the water touch his chin. “Not inherently manipulative.”
“Must I remind you that you profusely apologized for dipping your toes into my pool, insisted that you could go somewhere else even when I said I would allow it, and even after all of that I still had to practically drag you in here myself?”
He purses his lips and lowers himself into the water more, hiding. You kick up your foot a bit underwater, commanding the water near him to splash his face.
“Hey!” he exclaims.
You hop into the water and glide toward him. “Your consideration is incredibly thoughtful.” You tap his cheek. “You have a good heart. But when I invite you into my pool, you are welcome to come in.”
He takes a deep breath, then nods once. “Okay.”
“And,” you give him a little smile, “if you’re so attracted to my beauty and kindness, why don’t you do something about that?”
“Oh.” He dips himself lower into the water again, as though to hide. “But I don’t know if you—”
“You don’t,” you agree, “but you can use that head of yours to find out.” With one last grin, you dive underwater and disperse yourself into your pool again, and wait for him to catch up.
“Wait!” he shouts. “I don’t even know your name!”
You find that funny, and a few bubbles pop at the surface to mimic your laughter.
Water carries stories as it travels from place to place, as it hangs in the air as clouds, clings to the ground as fog, gathers and forms your collective body, but it also carries emotion. His nervousness radiates off of him in shallow waves as he tries to decide what to do.
“You should come back,” he finally says. “I like talking to you.”
You reward him with a little splash at his chest, careful not to hit his face. He laughs and the nervousness you felt begins to slowly melt into something giddy. “You’re sweet,” he continues, and the genuineness in his voice makes your heart swell. “And your hair looks soft. It confuses me a little that it doesn’t get wet, but I suppose that would be an inconvenience for you. And you control water, so maybe that makes sense.” He’s digressing, and it’s endearing. “I know I can’t stay for long…” his pulse begins to pick up, “…but if you’d have me, I’d like to leave you with a kiss.”
You appear in front of him – he jumps – and you laugh. “Was that so hard?”
His smile is still sheepish, but much of the tension has left his body. “You made it easier.” Silence stretches between you, but you let him work up the courage he needs to ask. You are a nymph after all, and have all the time in the world.
He glances at you and opens his mouth. It moves, but no words come out. A blush erupts on his round cheeks.
“I can’t.”
Gingerly, you tilt his chin up. “You can.”
You release him, and he stares at you for a moment, a little wide-eyed at first, but his pretty eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second before something in him kicks and suddenly his mouth is on yours, his soft hands gently cradling your face. And he’s pulling away – a hand – yours – finds his cheek and you’re surging forward, catching his lips again. He is oh so featherlight, perfectly matching his songbird-heart. You kiss him again – and again – and again – dragging your fingers down his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, his torso –
“I—” he pulls back. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.” He looks at you worriedly. “I’m sorry.”
“My dear sir,” you whisper, stroking his cheek with your thumb, “there is no need to apologize.” You smile and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. “But if that ever changes, please come back and visit.”
You aren’t certain how much time passes. Nymphs and the like have no need to record time like humans do, with all of their confusing days and hours and months. You know that when your gentleman visited last, the scarlets were in full bloom, and that now they have only begun to fade. Curious – and admittedly missing your sweet gentleman – you asked a dryad as inconspicuously as possible how long it has been. She eyed you. About two weeks, I think. Two months seems too long. Two days, far too short. What has you interested in the ways of Them?
I am simply curious, you had said. What’s a nymph to do in a little secluded pool in the woods with no hubbub?
She took your answer, but you hope she doesn’t spy on you later.
It is when you are minding your business that you sense movement in the thicket near your pool. The footsteps that approach the bank are not heavy and clumsy, but light and mindful. You sense them stop, feel the vibration of knees hitting the ground, and then –
The ripples at your surface capture his reflection. Your sweet gentleman.
“Excuse me,” he says, waving to the water, “may I take a drink? My canteen has run dry, and I am far from the village.”
You practically burst from underwater and place both of your hands on his knees. “You are always welcome to drink here.”
Instead of jumping this time, he gives you a grin so large it might tear you in two. “Thank you,” he replies, and leans in to give you a gentle kiss on the cheek. When he pulls back, you notice he’s a little flushed. (Perhaps that may never change. You don’t think you want it to.) “Might I bathe here as well?”
“Of course,” you smile. “The water is cool.” Before he can reply, you flip back into the water and wait for him to join. A little tradition. With much less hesitation than last time, he’s stripped himself and has slipped into the water behind you.
“May I ask a favor?”
You turn and give him a nod. Breathing in, he forces himself to look at you and asks, “Might you help me bathe?”
Wordlessly, you swim back to him and grab his wrists, leading him further in, closer to the waterfall opposite. You take a moment to appreciate his breathlessness at this, as he seems stuck gazing at you, eyes wide. “Well?” you ask, a little teasingly, “Where would you like me to start?”
“Oh– ah–” he blinks, eyes darting around frantically. His hands finally find his shoulders. “Here, I think,” and he reaches over to touch his back, “and also here.”
You crook a finger and will the water to flow against gravity and into your palm, delighting a bit at his sheer wonderment at such a paltry trick, and slowly – slowly – cup his cheek and pull him in for a deep kiss while tipping your other hand over his shoulder, your thumb pressing at the edge of his jaw, and direct the water to fall over his skin. When he sighs out of his nose, it is warm. You kiss him again, your hand now against his neck, and feel his fingers in the water twitch in place.
“You can touch,” you whisper. A muscle on his neck jerks and pushes against your palm, and his hands do not move. When you look at him, his head turns away to the side. You use the opening to pull him closer to you till his ear is near your lips. Small currents tug between his fingers in your direction. “I want you to touch.”
“…Where?”
“Anywhere.”
You kiss him again, and his pretty lashes flutter when his eyes close. His hands carefully settle on your waist, and when you lean in, you press the entirety of yourself against him, giving to his touch, conveying in every way you know that you being in his arms, touched by him, kissed by him – is your desire, and your desire is something he holds.
“This,” you tap a finger against his bottom lip, “all of this—” and pull a stronger current to press against his back, his thighs – and then between them – “I give to you freely, because I want to.”
A beat passes, and you almost think he has frozen himself again until you feel his hands squeeze at your hips. “Thank you,” he breathes out, and his hands drift slowly downward, skirting over your abdomen. His face is hidden in the crook of your neck, and when he asks his next question, his soft lips drag across your skin. “May I…?”
“Ever the gentleman,” you giggle, and reach forward, gently grabbing his wrist and guiding it between your thighs. When his fingers brush against your lips, then your clit, you can’t help but gasp – you feel him hesitate, just for a moment, before he continues, the tenseness in his body melting away. He wraps one arm around you, his grip finding the softness of the back of your thigh to hold you in place while the other continues to explore your folds. It is reverential, almost, the way his fingers carefully stroke through, and his silence is evidence enough of how focused he is, paying attention to every reaction he draws from you. It is only when he finally revisits your clit that the full body twitch elicits a short gasp from him, and his grip on your thigh tightens as he presses and rubs again
and again
and again
addicted to all that you are freely giving, and the harder your nails press into his shoulders and back the more he gives until you hear his muttering words against your neck – that’s it, please, you’re so beautiful, please – as he begs you to come, and you do – you give him your pleasure, all of it, as you shake in his arms and stutter and gasp and bite his shoulder, as your toes and fingers tense and stretch and translucent blue webbing suddenly stretches between them, as soft, membrane-connected rays pull and fan outward from the tips of your ears and previously hidden gill slits flutter, as strands of kelp and algae twist and peek from behind locks of your hair – you give this all to him, all of you, what you truly are, as he watches you come in his arms. And when you come-to, prepared to revert to your more conventional form, the look of warmth – relief – awe – keeps you from it.
“Thank you,” he breathes out, and kisses you again. “Thank you.”